


The Long Road Home

by Musichowler



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Bloody Death of a minor character, Body Dysphoria, Eww-seriously, F/M, Fear, Friendship, Gore, Inexact science, Marshmallow guns, Medical Horror, More added as I feel necessary, More inexact science, Nonconsentual Body Modification, PTSD-recovery, Pain, Psychological Manipulation, Rating May Change, Torture, Trauma, Warnings May Change, World Hopping, but not too bad, implied death of a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musichowler/pseuds/Musichowler
Summary: What happens when a normal, real-world girl falls through a portal into the MCU? What challenges will she find? Shes in a world not her own. Oh, it looks like hers, and smells like it and mostly sounds like it. But Superheros? Wearing spandex of all things? Yeah, not so much.  And what the actual fuck is a soulmark?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, Im putting this out there as a challenge to myself. I have never written anything like this, I have no official Beta reader, though Cassiopeasky and Meleedamage have been helpful. That said, I may or may not continue this story.

When HYDRA had asserted itself and Shield had fallen, the Asset had escaped. It had never been recaptured or contained, though not for lack of trying, and Hydra eventually lost the resources to waste trying to do so. It was a write off. Expensive, to be sure, but ultimately cheaper to ignore unless an opportunity presented itself. The research notes and equipment blueprints were still available, so it was possible to begin again. They would grow in the shadows again.

Then the Asset started destroying Hydra strongholds, leaving openings for the Avengers to come and rob them of further resources. This was highly problematic, as the equipment necessary to wipe, program and store the Asset was also destroyed. Meaning that new assets, new versions of the Winter Soldier, could not be created. So began the power struggle. Hydras remaining holdout cells began accelerating their own projects in an effort to maneuver themselves into a position of greater power.

The Avengers, lead by Captain America, were instrumental in taking down these small, and in some cases not so small, holdouts. The war on HYDRA raged, and the Avengers were slowly removing tech from HYDRA that it needed to bring about order. Chitauri tech was confiscated, their fighters beaten, their scientists detained and their research destroyed. The Avengers efforts eventually lead to the raid on Struckers base, the Ultron debacle in Sokovia and eventually, the recovery of Sergent James Buchanan Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier. Steve had found him among the rebuild crews who had been clearing debris in the city after it had been returned to Earth and deemed safe for rehabilitation. Had found him in fact, quite by accident, when they had both been trying to move the same heavy rock out of the road. A mishap had ended in sore toes and snark.

"Would you just let me get it!"

"Those were my toes, you jerk!"

"Oh shut up, punk."

"Wha-Bucky?" The confusion on Steves face had been comical enough to have Bucky chuckling for several minutes.

With financial support from Tony, there had been a veritable army of therapists and doctors who worked to get the HYDRA programming out of his head and make sure he had full control of his arm. Though still slightly jumpy when Steve finally brought him to the tower, they made it work. Part of the therapy had been coming clean to Tony about what happened to his parents. That had been hard, but seeing Bucky be genuinely remorseful had enabled Tony to put the hate aside. Things were tense, but workable. Tony winning the ping-pong competition also helped. Steve was ridiculously happy to have his friend back, and Bucky was glad enough to help kick Hydra tail.

A lot had changed between them, though a lot had stayed the same. Steve still tended to charge in, kicking ass and taking names with no thought to his own safely. James still watched his back on missions, worried for him, and shot at anything that threatened his friend. Being able to help, to do something genuinely good, went a long way to aid his recovery. He found it encouraging too, that the rest of Steves teammates had accepted him as readily as they had. They were cautious of course, but with this team he had a chance to be a real help, and maybe atone for some of the damage wrought as the Winter Soldier.

The other thing that was both encouraging and frightening to him, was the appearance of a soulmark. Having grown up blank had played a large part in the lady-killer persona he had adopted as a younger man. He figured, if there wasn't a perfect person for him, he would just enjoy himself, and not worry about anything else. He had even been a tiny bit relieved at being a blank when he fell, because it meant there would be no one left behind. He had still been blank when he first came in with Steve.

Needless to say, it had been a huge shock when, one evening while watching baseball, about 2 months into his recovery, it suddenly felt as if a tongue of electric fire was traced from his groin up across his belly toward his left shoulder. He lept off the couch with a yelp that startled Steve into dropping his beer, then staring as Bucky jumped around smacking at his belly like itching powder had been dropped down his shirt. Bucky finally yanked off his shirt and then froze, staring down, his back to Steve.

"Um, Buck? You...ok?" Steve wasn't quite sure what would cause such an odd reaction. He cautiously stepped closer to his friend, worried about the shaky breaths his friend was taking.

"Steve? Steve look, look!" Bucky's softly spoken words rang with a note of wonder as he turned towards Steve, his fingers tracing his belly. Steve gaped. He couldn't help it. Bucky had always been blank. It had practically defined his behavior from the time they were teens. Steve had never cared, Buck was his friend, end of story. And yet, there they were. Soft green words rolled in a mix of cursive and print across his friends torso. Bucky stroked his fingers across them gently. Steve blushed and looked away. It felt wrong to see his friend touch anything so tenderly.

"Is she just being born, you think?” Bucky made a face. “Am I only gonna meet her when I'm old?" Steve met his eyes, and snorted. Like they weren't already old. "You know what I mean punk!" Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

"I know Buck. And Ive got no clue. Maybe you had to clear your head a bit first?" Bucky huffed a soft chuckle at that. It was true enough, he supposed. He certainly hadn't been himself when he came in, not fully anyway.

"I have a soulmate. Me. Why though? Why now?" Bucky bit his lip as he wondered. What did it say about him that he only got a soulmark after he had been the Asset? Was his soulmate going to be Hydra? He sucked in a sharp breath, chilled at the thought. It would kill him if she was. But who else would want him, with his blood soaked history and cold metal arm? Steve was making reassuring noises, like always, but Bucky abruptly wanted to be alone. "Steve, I'm...gonna go lay down. Talk to ya later, kay?" Steve nodded reluctantly, and Bucky left him to the game.

Closing his bedroom door behind him, he leaned back against the solid wood, trying to wrap his head around the idea of a person who was just for him. How? Why? When? He looked down at the words again, running diagonally up from...Jesus how far down did they go? He unbuckled his jeans, lowering them and kicking them and his boxers off and stared, blushing slightly. Did the words really start... He turned his face to the ceiling, gathering himself, before he swallowed hard and checked. Yep, his words started at the base of his cock. Someone was going to speak words to him that started...there. He twitched. Well, that put paid to the idea of a platonic match. He choked on air as his imagination ran wild for a few seconds. Her mouth was going to say those words. The words started there. Her mouth there... **NOPE NOPE stop that right now!** He forced his mind away from that kind of thought. **Waaaaaaaay ahead of yourself. Stop that. Right the fuck now.** He groaned as his body tightened in reaction, despite his attempts at control. At least this was motivation to work on his therapy. He stroked his flesh hand down the words on his belly again, wondering when he would get to meet her. He both hoped and feared it would be soon. What kind of person was she? What would she look like? Would...would she smile at him? He looked at his words again, rubbing them gently with his thumb, hope really burning in his chest for the first time in more years then he could count.. With any luck, maybe she would.

_Hello handsome! Care to lend a girl a hand?_


	2. Chapter 2

Before her adventure started, Darcy Mitchell lived in the REAL world, thank you very much. A short, plump brunette who liked to bake, loved her husband and daughter, and wanted to get out more. She lived in a simple apartment with her family and their dog in Portland Oregon.

A typical day started at 530, with coffee and a bit of exercise before getting the munchkin up for school. Then it was cooking breakfast, making sure lunches and homework were packed, hair and teeth brushed and then ushering said child out to the bus stop. Then it was back home to make sure her husband Mike had what he needed, then her own shower and the basic, everyday dull things that need to happen to make a household work. Not terribly exciting, but satisfying in their own way.

Evenings were kind of the reverse: dinner, dishes, bath for the kid, etc. Then cuddles and nookie with the hubs, before sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On the morning our story began, Darcy had decided to actually take a walk, instead of her usual yoga. She should have just enough time to get through the 2 miles before she had to get the kid up. So, I-pod tucked in her bra, jacket and sneakers on, she headed out into the misty predawn dark.

The air was heavy with the scent of wet cedar and yesterdays grass clippings. Water dripped from the tree branches as she walked under them, occasionally chilling her skin when it fell. She could hear the birds starting to wake, chirping sleepily to one another. With a smile, Darcy lengthened her strides, stretching to see if she could maybe be a little faster then usual.

As she walked along the sidewalk, there was a strange sort of tearing sound behind and to her left. _Damn inconsiderate drivers_. _Were they hotdogging at this hour?_ Darcy wondered as light appeared and seemed to sparkle in the misty air in front of her. She turned to look over her shoulder, expecting a cars headlights, and tripped off the sidewalk. She fell forward, through the sparkling lights as spots exploded across her vision. Her eyes screwed shut, she held her arms out in front of her, expecting pain and a jolt from making contact with the pavement. But the contact never came.

She was falling. Out and...away. Away from what? Just...away. She opened her eyes and was completely swamped by horror at seeing different shades of darkness rushing past her. She could hear the crackling of flames, wind rushing past her face, and a dull roar that may have been a waterfall. The realization that she was falling, really falling, headfirst and FAST, finally pulled a scream of terror from her throat. Air, icy cold and so hot that it hurt to breath rushed past her, drying a throat already made sore from screaming. A hundred smells assaulted her nose and disappeared before they fully registered. Smells of fear, heat and burning, vomit, blood. The taste of tears mixed with the sour burn of bile on her bitten tongue, making her gag. She finally stopped screaming when she realized that for all the noise, she couldn't hear herself at all. There was only the wind that pulled at her, the air that was so hard to pull into her lungs, and the smells which lingered, but that she couldn't name. She continued to fall through the void. How long had it been? Long enough to wonder.

Time passed and yet, there was no time. Fear gave way to curiosity, and she flailed briefly, hoping to touch something, ANYTHING solid. Finally, color registered, what looked like red lightening, glowing behind ominous grey clouds and slowly illuminating the silhouettes of sharp black mountains off to one side. She turned her head the other way and screamed again as the shades of darkness from before writhed like worms in a pile, almost seeming to reach for her. She flailed again, tasting ash and an unfamiliar, wild bitterness on her tongue. Then, far below, or was it above her? A circle of flickering orange light. It looked like...firelight. She was heading right for it. Was she going to fall into it? _This was gonna hurt._ She whimpered, covered her face and braced for impact.

So it was a complete surprise when she flew _upwards_ through the fire, sending a huge billowing cloud of smoke and ash skyward. She cried out as the embers bit at her skin and she scrambled, smacking at them frantically while trying not to breath the smoke. Before she could orient herself properly, gravity reasserted its hold and yanked her back toward the ground. She hit, the earth cold and hard, and bounced a little, before coming to rest against a large tree with a groan.

Fuck, everything hurt. There were voices, sounding like an argument, but nothing she could understand was being said. The smell of snow, and earth long frozen, the surrounding plants long dead. Hard hands hauled her upright, eliciting a startled cry of pain and something was snarled in her face by a large man with a strange green uniform and breath that reeked of rotten teeth. She tried to twist away, and he shook her, sending sharp pain radiating through her already sore shoulder and tearing an other cry from her lips. Taking a deep breath and finally getting her feet under her, she looked around, teeth starting to chatter in reaction. A man with an unpleasant, squashed looking face glared at her from across the clearing. He looked furious, the animosity he exuded, sickening. His robes(?) looked like something out of a Harry Potter film. What the hell? The man holding her arm shook her again until her teeth rattled and dizziness shot through her. He shouted some more. She hissed as her shoulder twinged unpleasantly yet again, and finally turned her face to him, hoping for answers. Was he military? Where the hell had she ended up? Her eyes caught on the armband on his left arm and she stared. Where had she seen a skull with tentacles before? Curiosity about her surroundings, indeed about anything else at all, vanished abruptly at the sensation of being written on with a pen made of fire. Naturally, she shrieked.

"Yeeow! What the...get it off!" Darcy scrambled at her shirt, thinking maybe an ember had fallen inside it. There was no ember. But why did she suddenly have a tattoo? Writing she was unfamiliar with traced down her lower belly and into the waist of her pants. Everything else faded as she focused on the words. What did they say? Her glasses had been lost in the fall, and the angle and light were making it difficult.  Then she was completely distracted again, this time by the gun butt that knocked her unconscious.

  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets icky guys. Seriously, read the tags. Read them again. If anything there triggers you, please do not read. If I have forgotten to tag something, please please please tell me so I can fix it.

When Darcy woke, it was to a throbbing head, a naked body and bright, blindingly bright, lights. She flinched away from them, trying to turn over and curl into herself, seeking what warmth she could find. The cold metal she lay on bit at her skin. Why couldn't she move her arms or legs? She struggled weakly as she could hear voices coming toward her. She tried to call out, to call for help, but the pain in her head was so bad she lost consciousness again.

 

The second time, the pain was still there, but not so strongly. Slowly, her senses came back, and she tried to take stock of herself. The light was still blindingly bright, making her eyes tear and her head throb. Cold registered next. Why the hell was she naked? Voices reached her ears and she struggled to sit up. Her arms remained at her sides. Upon closer inspection, she discovered she was bound to a cold metal table with padded cuffs. She again tried to sit up when she heard the voices getting louder, determined to meet whatever was coming in as strong a state as possible. The sensation of cold and fear hardening her nipples made the feeling of exposure, of vulnerability, rise up and choke her even as a group of men filed into her periphery. The inability to cover herself or hide from their gazes made the feeling of violation more prominent. She shivered.

 

One was the angry man in the uniform with the horrible breath. He seemed to be the leader of the group in the uniforms. They were accompanied by a second group, all of whom looked to be wearing lab coats. Finally, there was the man with the squashed looking face and the weird robes. He carried a large, hard backed book and glared at her. Was he some sort of priest?

 

"Ужасное дама, почему ты взял на себя эту слабую форму?" He spoke first, spitting the words at her as if she had personally offended him. Why was he so angry? What had she done? She swallowed hard.

 

"What are you saying? I don't understand." She did her best to maintain her composure, though she couldn't sit up properly and she was naked in front of a bunch of strange men. It was beyond creepy, but the angry looks made her more uneasy then anything else.

 

"Как вы думаете, играть с нами Вызванный монстр?" He sounded even more angry then last time. She peered at him as best she could from her prone position. Was he sweating? It was _cold_ in here!

 

"I don't understand you! Do you speak English?" She looked around and asked in a smaller voice, "Any of you?" The groups traded looks, some of those in the lab coats looking more happy then the ones in uniform, and leering at her in a way that made her skin crawl. Her stomach lurched at the implications of those looks.

 

From the group in the lab coats, one man stepped forward, and the others gave way to him. He must be the one in charge. He was tall, and wore his lab coat over what looked like a suit. Darcy thought she would have called him fastidious if she saw him in a coffee house. He stepped closer to her then the others had so far, it was less difficult to see him. When he spoke, his voice was cold and oily, like some sort of over the top movie bad guy.

 

"I will speak with you Summoned One." She could practically hear the capitols. Hoo boy, this was gonna be a fun conversation. Clarification would have to come first.

 

"Summoned One?" He nodded, looking as if he was trying to appear respectful, but was unused to doing so.

 

"Perhaps the transition has wearied you, Summoned One? Coming through the Hellgate is, I imagine, a taxing process." This was getting more and more odd and alarming.

 

"Hellgate? I don't understand? You aren't making sense! Where am I? Who are you people? I...I fell..." she trailed off as she remembered sparkling lights, the sound of tearing air, and writhing shadows. The man was looking more and more amused as she faltered. He leaned forward and she jumped at his sudden closeness. 

 

"You answered the call of HYDRA, Summoned One! A contract, wherein we provide you with blood and souls, and in return, you will grant us power, and aid us in the war against our enemies! Come now, why do you continue this ruse? Call forth your armies! Let us lay waste to this land of weak and useless servant vessels!" She stared, wide eyed as he practically foamed at the mouth while making this declaration. More and more, this didn't seem real. Hydra? Wasn't that the bad guy organization from Marvel? With the creepy red guy with no skin? What was this guy ranting about? What sort of really bad LARPing group had she stumbled into?

 

"Dude! HYDRA is still a storybook bad guy group! C'mon, even in the movies its a bunch of Nazi freaks! What the hell are you getting at?" He frowned down at her coldly, reining himself in and re-gathering his composure. "This isn't cool dude! Let me go! I want to go home!" She started squirming as best she was able, no longer willing to entertain the crazy person. She was SO going to the cops over this. His voice was cold and clipped when he responded.

 

"Do you mean to say that you are NOT, in fact, a demon, **Summoned One**?" The squashed looking man was looking more and more worried as the conversation progressed.

 

"NO! I'm human! I live in Oregon for gods sake! I'm married to a nice guy! I have a kid! What the hell are you talking about-demon? This isn't a TV show!" Darcy stopped speaking as the man stepped up to her side more fully, his expression chilling into something that terrified her so completely, she was unable to speak. He leaned over her and smiled, teeth bared. His voice was very soft.

 

"Oh dear me." Straightening, he turned to the squashed looking guy with a smirk that she just KNEW was gonna result in something horrible. She wasn't wrong. "It appears, Mikhail, that the "demon" you have summoned, is...defective. You **know** how HYDRA treats...failure." The man in the robes-Mikhail-who had stepped forward when the tall guy got close, started backing away quickly looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. His voice shook when he spoke, obviously terrified.

 

"No sir! I...I followed the instructions!" He scrambled frantically with the book, holding it up as if to ward off the slender man stalking toward him. "It says it here! Bone of the father, blood, flesh, in the right order! I got it right!" Was that a fucking Harry Potter book?

 

"That's fiction! What are you doing?" Darcy couldn't believe she had even opened her mouth, and struggled harder, hoping to hell this was not going to go where it looked like it was. The tall man was now glaring at a shaking Mikhail, whose back was pressed against the wall.

 

"Fiction? You used the last, of the _Winter Soldiers_ blood, in this attempt, which you claimed would be GLORIOUS, based on a work, of FICTION? In so doing you have denied HYDRA even a semblance of victory with your stupidity!" He wordlessly held his hand out to one side toward the angry man dressed in the military uniform. A long, gleaming machete was placed, handle first, in his palm. Darcy was completely unable to look away, though her mind was screaming at her.

 

Her captor swung the machete, and Mikhail screamed, high and frantic, as his hand, still clutching the book, fell to the floor. A second swing, and more blood and a second sickening plop as Mikhail lost his second hand to the wickedly gleaming blade. Darcy wanted to look away, desperate to not see, to shut it out, but the screams would not allow it. The man stepped forward again, the blade raised in one hand, Mikhail's hair grasped in the other.  Mikhail pleaded, on his knees, even as he bled.

 

"Please! M-my son, my wife! They know nothing of this! Spare them, I beg you!" To the shock of seemingly everyone in the room, the blade was slowly lowered and the mans voice gentled slightly.

 

"Mikhail, you shall pay for your mistake, but your child will not." Mikhail had tears standing in his eyes even as he slumped against the wall.

 

"Thank y"

 

"He will be just for fun!" With those words, the machete swept forward, going through Mikhail's throat and nailing him to the wall blade side up. Darcy could no longer contain the screams of horror as Mikhail spasmed, garbling noises escaping before he expired and went limp. Turning back to her, her captor smiled, even as the weight of Mikhail's body pulled his corpse down, the blade splitting it until it fell to the floor, leaking blood and fluid. The smell was worse then anything she had ever experienced. "Now my dear, there is no need to scream." Stepping up to her, He stroked her hair back gently and chuckled as she closed her mouth with a choked off sob of horror and fear. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to keep screaming. She wanted to forget any of this had ever happened. "Now, you claim you are merely human?"

 

"Y-y-yes!" Her voice was an embarrassingly small and shaky squeak. She swallowed a sob as he smiled down at her and shook in terror.

 

"We must verify this. Please excuse the restraints my dear, they are for our safety." He sounded so reasonable and calm that she wanted to nod along with him. One young man, another of the lab coat group, stepped gingerly forward with a syringe. She watched as he inserted it into her arm, and drew several cc's of blood. "Hurry with that. We have no time to waste."

 

The young man quickly whipped out a slide and cover, placed a drop of blood on it, and handed it to a colleague, who quickly took it out of her sight, presumably to examine it. Her captor looked beyond her for a few minutes as if waiting, caressing her hair in a semblance of tenderness that had tension coiling further in her belly. Finally he nodded, presumably to the person who had verified her humanity. When he looked back to her, he leaned in close, and the smile on his face had her almost loosing control of her bladder. This time when he spoke, he did so from right by her ear, fingers brushing her cheek.

 

"Oh my dear, I think you will sorely wish you were other then you are, before we are finished with each other. Demon or not, you will serve the purpose of HYDRA!" He stepped away from her, nodding to the other men in lab coats, who descended on her like rats to a piece of fallen meat.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little short, but important in moving the story along. Hope you like it!

They were hurting her again.

It had stopped really mattering how often. Just...again. How long had it been? Days? Months? YEARS? Pain defined her existence most of the time. Autonomy? What was that? She was no longer master of her body, its reactions, how or even if it healed were dictated by Them. Upon their realization that they had in fact managed to get ahold of a human with no ties to anything or any _one_ , who showed up from Somewhere Else, they decided to make use of her. Thus it was that her existence became akin to hell on earth.

Measurements had come first, calibrations of her sensitivity, pain tolerance, ability to withstand rough treatment, hunger, thirst, temperature differences. Once they had a baseline established though, things got really bad. It started with injections that made her sick and sore. After each, she was made to perform some task or other. It was usually pointless, painful and often embarrassing. They were never satisfied, and once it was done, she was taken back to her cell. Again and again, the pain kept building each time until it was something she was constantly aware of. It wore on her mind, to hurt so much for so long. Then it got worse, because she started healing faster.

They injected her with strangely colored fluids that either burned or froze her veins. Watched dispassionately as she foamed at the mouth and screamed from the pain. Watched as she choked on her own vomit, making notes as they did so, caring nothing for her pain or terror. Through it all, she was aware she was changing, but could not tell how. She felt like she was loosing herself. Some days she couldn't even remember her own name.

Shame ceased to exist as they flayed parts of her skin off and made it grow back. She begged, pleaded for mercy. None came. They tried to burn the words that had appeared and complained when they showed up again. They had stabbed chains through her limbs and hung her from the ceiling, gagging her when she screamed too loudly, letting her jerk and twitch as her blood dripped down her arms and legs, as her life-essence ran down the drain in the floor. They laughed when she lost control of her bladder at the pain, poking at her and rotating her in the air like a cut of meat in a slaughterhouse, jabbering the whole time.

Time had lost all meaning. They had ripped out her guts and put them back in, burned her and torn her and drowned her and the whole time, chattered around her in their stupid, foreign tongue. She thought she might even have died at some point, maybe more then once, but she wasn't sure anymore. All she was sure of was the pain. There had been a time without it, right? When she had been warm, comfortable, safe? Loved? Sometimes the sense of aloneness was worse then the physical pain.

"Она собирается на самом деле тонут в этот раз?" _Is it actually going to sink in this time?_

She didn't even know why. She couldn't understand what they were saying, for all that they yelled a lot in what sounded like some Eastern European language. When would they get it through their fucking heads that she didn't understand? Or did they even care? Probably not, all things considered.

"Что, черт возьми, ты делаешь с ней сейчас?" _What the hell are you doing with it now?_

"До дозировки и скажите мне, как она реагирует." _Prior to dosing, tell me how it reacts._

  
  


There was the one, the man she recognized as her main captor, who spoke English when it suited him to do so. He seemed to be the head researcher, and talked at her occasionally, explaining whatever hell they were calling the current medical torture. He expected a polite response if she was coherent too, the bastard.

"We need to know what it is that accelerates your healing my dear. For our next experiment. And we must know how your scaring is kept to such a minimum. We have tried this on more then one person you see, and we have never seen such success since the 1940's!" He sounded so delighted it turned her stomach. But it was the only time anyone talked to her in a language she knew, so she found her traitorous ears listening anyway. The worst part of it was that he made himself seem... **nice** , in comparison to his colleagues. Darcy **knew** , deep down, that he was building some sort of Stockholm Syndrome into her, but for the life of her, she could not figure out how to counter it.

He had the bad habit of monologueing to her during downtime between experiments. Often she was only barely conscious, but he talked anyway. He detailed that she had arrived when they tried to summon a demon, and since she herself would be useless as a weapon, soft tiny thing that she was, they were experimenting to see what needed to happen to get a real one or make a new one. He explained some of the "magic" that had been tried, how she was the only result.

"You see my dear, this book is what prompted Mikhail to try what he did," he held aloft a book with a bespectacled boy and a glowing challis on the front. "He decided to try a summoning ritual based on what he read to his son! One finds inspiration in the most unlikely of places, yes? You were the result. Perhaps if Mikhail hadn't been such an idiot we could have used you to breed new Winter Soldiers. He died for his failure, if you remember, but I'm so happy to have you here." At the time, all she could really register was that someone had been crazy enough to try magic from a fucking storybook.

He claimed they were working for the betterment of humanity. To save the world from chaos. That what was done was necessary, and she should be glad to be of service. He said they were great, had explained that no one was looking for her, no one even knew she was there to search for. They made her body obey. But she rebelled. It started in the most unlikely of ways.

"Слова все еще там? что ты уже испробовал?" _The words are still there? What have you already tried?_ It was after this particular question that they poured acid on the soft red letters that showed across her belly and groin. Her blood curdling screams echoed as the words bubbled and seemed to melt, before resurfacing as her skin reformed. The scientists tutted and made notes. Despite crying from the pain, she was perversely glad the words came back. She felt an odd attachment to them, even if she didn't remember how long they had been there or what they meant. Her captor stroked her hair absently as he watched her skin reform, only slight discoloration remaining. 

"My dear, you are indeed resilient. But why would one such as you have need of a soulmark?" Despite it being rhetorical, the sheer fictional feeling of that question brought her up short and caught her attention. It had been so long since something other then agony and cold occupied her thoughts, but they had been focusing on only her skin that day, so there were fewer drugs then normal.

"Soulmar'? Wha ya mean?" Her own voice sounded foreign to her, catching on sobs and raw from the screaming. He chuckled slightly and, to her surprise, answered, looking her dead in the eyes.

"Do they not exist where you come from? They are the words which tie you to your souls other half. But you, you are an experiment, my dear. You have no _need_ of a soul."

Rage, kindled by pain and fed by abuse, roared to life in her chest at this statement. She had begged, pleaded and cried for mercy as they abused her body. They had shown none. But this? No soul? What kind of shit did they think they were shoveling? She had had a _life_ before this, thank you very much! With loved ones, (My-Mi?) and...and...a life. She had _parents_ , so she hadn't just popped into existence, despite the lunatic asylum she found herself in. So she had to have been **_born_**. She had a soul. She had a SOUL. “ _We are a spirit, we have a soul and we live in a body._ ” Words she vaguely remembered hearing floated up in her mind, in a voice she couldn't recall a face for. But it simply cemented her conviction: she HAD a soul! She was a person, and they were EVIL!!!

They lied to her body, but she knew the truth. And if they lied in one thing, they lied in all things. So Darcy waited. Watched. They could perform their experiments, mock her lack of knowledge, hurt her until she wished she was dead and feared she would not be permitted to die. But whatever they made her feel or do, one thing she held fast to beyond all else. They _lied_.

And eventually, there would be a chance. An opportunity. Perhaps a slack restraint, an inattentive guard. She would eventually be able to arm herself. A gun, a knife, even one of their chains would work. A scalpel! She giggled to herself. And then she would see if they could maintain their lies when shown what she had seen. So she watched, and screamed, and waited for her chance. It would come.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, for the purpose of foreshadowing. Itallics indicate Russian in this chapter.

Felix Koriyev thought of himself as a reasonable person. He had a simple life, and simple wants that his job enabled him to meet. Electrical maintenance was not a glamorous job, but it kept him fed, even if his apartment was a bit of a rat hole. He never had seen the point of spending a lot of money on where he lived. His father had been a monstrous drunk who believed in nothing but fighting, fucking and drinking. Nothing else was important. Including the comfort of his son.

Felix was of the opinion that comfort was important. Comfort required money. Money allowed access to things that made one happy. Vodka, enough food to feed himself, a TV to watch Conan movies, and some left over for the occasional bit of company. It was low key, easy and not a lot was expected of him. That was just the way he liked it. But occasionally, something he wanted would cost more then he had at the moment. Not often, but enough that he knew where to pick up extra work when necessary. He had a standing practice to work a little extra with one particular electrical customer who seemed to have more trouble than it really should.

Bogdanow Laboratory and Chemical Plant was a company that was apparently run by some very old world scientists who disliked spending money. They did not seem to be interested in updating their equipment unless absolutely necessary. They operated out of a converted factory in the middle of BF Nowhere. It was always cold and the lighting was always bad. Their security personnel were some of the creepiest he had ever worked with, but they also paid the best. They were not above paying extra under the table to get something done faster and keep it off the books. So Felix got paid, and did not have to pay taxes. Win-win.

One of the guards was named Wolfgang, a tall, well built man whom Felix had attended school with, but had not been able to keep up with physically. Wolfgang had been military for a while, but then had retired under questionable circumstances and gone into private security. Felix privately thought Wolfie was wasted in security for a group of egg-head science nerds, and often teased his friend about his new job and of course, about the tightness of the uniform. But whenever he brought up the job itself, his friend waved him off and told him the incentives were too good to pass up. Felix was never able to get from Wolfgang exactly what those incentives were, but he had a feeling he was better off not knowing.

Wolfgang had called him to let him know some extra work was available. Felix had been thinking of the new girl at his favorite bar, the one with the...prominent chest, who he wanted to get to know a bit better. It occurred to Felix that some extra cash would help...smooth the way, as it were. He showed up that morning, tool box in hand and was greeted by Wolfgang at the gate.

“ _Welcome Felix! How are you, my friend?_ ”

“ _Life is shit!_ ”

“ _Ah well, what can you do_.” They both shared a grin, the greeting being a long held tradition between them. Wolfgang lead Felix into the plant, down the echoing, formerly white hallways under dim florecent bulbs, to a freight elevator. Wolfgang reached out to the button labelled 'B4'.

“ _Fuck. Its one of the lower panels isn't it?_ ” Wolfgang grimaced at him before nodding. No one liked to go to the lower floors.

“ _The electrical has been playing up down there for a while now, ever since the scientists started their new round of tests. You are the only one who can fit into the service area without shutting down the entire plant._ ” Wolfgang reached out and poked at Felix's skinny arm, grinning.

“ _As long as you pay me Wolfie, only as long as you pay me._ ” They shared a look and a chuckle again before falling silent. “What are they working on that causes such a drain?”

“ _You know that is above my pay grade Felix! And even if it wasn't, I LIKE my job. Security is more fun and safer then running guns._ ” The look they shared then was in remembrance of the horrid life they had led as children, when Felix was regularly subject to his violent father and Wolfgang was living with the nuns, making pocket money by running errands for local mob enforcers.

The two men made their way from the elevator to another dimly lit hallway, concrete walls cold and beaded with moisture. The scent of mildew permeated the area. When they stopped beside a child-sized metal door covered in high voltage warning symbols, Felix sighed heavily. Cold and wet and dangerous, that was what this job was going to be. Damn. With only thoughts of the pretty girl with the large chest to keep him warm, Felix shrugged out of his bulky coat and got to work. He opened the narrow panel, leaned in with a flashlight to inspect the damage and groaned aloud. Cold, wet, dangerous and **slow**. Damn.

45 minutes later, he was braced half-in and half-out of the access way, on his back, splicing wires in an overhead panel when a commotion down the hall distracted him. He paused to look up. There was a lot of shouting and a large group of people, scientists by the look of it, making their way in his direction. The tall man in the grey suit with a lab coat thrown over it stopped when he came level with them and glared at Wolfgang and Felix. Felix swallowed hard and tried not to be noticed.

“ _What is going on here?_ ” The mans voice was cold and almost oily. He looked very angry and authoritative. Wolfgang made an abortive motion with his left arm, and then stopped himself and spoke up.

“ _He is fixing the electrical panel sir. It is our understanding that the shorts we have been having trouble with originated here, and Felix is the only electrician I know of who can fit._ ” Felix found himself quailing under that cold hard stare.

“ _Bring him along_ ,” was all that he said, and then marched off down the corridor. Felix found himself pulled quite abruptly from the access panel, banging his elbow in the process.

“ _Ouch! What the hell Wolfie_?” He rubbed his elbow as Wolfgang hauled him upright with one hand and grabbed his tool box with the other.

“ _Come on, hurry up Felix!_ ” With a quick look back inside the panel, Felix could see that the wire he had just spliced was indeed connected, if hanging free, and quickly threw the breaker back into the “on” position before he found himself being frogmarched down the hall after the scientists. He squawked and tried to pull loose, only for Wolfgang to give him a quick shake. _“Leave it. You finished the splicing! That is Yorgi Korshunov! He is THE lead scientist, and not one to cross. You come, now._ ” With that, Wolfgang returned to dragging Felix down the hallway.

Behind him, in the electrical panel that a lab grunt hastily covered again, the new splice in the already over loaded circuit began to discolor as it warmed from excess heat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter fought me every step of the way and I don't think its willing to let me massage it any more. Please forgive me for the shortness, chapters will be longer in future.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky, according to Steve. Stevie, who had gone from such a scrawny little shrimp with a chip on his shoulder and no sense of self preservation, to an enormous juggernaut of a man, still with no sense of self preservation. _Without a parachute Steve? Really?_ It threw him off sometimes, when the apartment was quiet except for some music in the background and he would glance up from his book, over at Steve. The formerly tiny blonde now had a body to match his determination, and Bucky thought he really shouldn't be surprised.

There was a lot weighing him down when Steve brought him back to the tower. He stayed in the spare room in Steve's apartment for the first six months, and for the first two, had refused to come out unless everyone else was away or asleep. What if he lost it again? What if he hurt someone? The fact that his initial reaction to seeing Natallia again had been to pull a knife was not a good thing. It had taken three weeks for him to start sleeping more then an hour or so at a time, and it had shown in the increase of paranoid behavior. Steve tried to be encouraging, but Bucky remained skeptical.

He wanted to make amends. He wanted to pay for the lives he had taken under HYDRA's instruction. But he wasn't sure he would be able to ever be a part of the team the way Steve obviously wanted him to. He was broken, and would remain that way. He refused to attend therapy at first, insisting there was nothing that could be done. He found himself in different parts of the tower at night, with no memory of how he had come to be there. When he came awake at two in the morning to find himself standing over a sleeping Steve with a knife drawn, he had frozen and then bolted silently back to his bedroom.

Once he was behind the locked door, he crumbled to the floor in shock, rocking intermittently back and forth, his hands fisted in his hair. Fuck! What if he hadn't woken up? Would he have killed his best friend? His fucking brother? Christ, he _had_ to get a handle on this shit! He didn't know how long he sat like that, but he was startled when Steve knocked on his door. Did he wake the punk up? He didn't answer, not wanting Steve to see him in such a shameful state.

Steve had eventually gotten Natasha to pick the lock and had let himself in anyway, much to Bucky's consternation. He wasn't sure what he expected, but Steve had simply pulled him in with an arm around his shoulders and let him cry. Bucky was surprised how much it helped to just lean on his friend for a while. To be held. It had been so long since anyone touched him without intent to harm. Steve had let him cry himself out and then helped him back into bed. Fetching his sketchbook, he settled next to Bucky, who promptly went to sleep, knowing Steve would have his back. He slept until the following afternoon, so Steve suggested watching the baseball game, and having beer and pizza. Grateful for the chance to do something easy and quiet, that wouldn't bring up bad memories, Bucky had agreed. It was during this game that Bucky's soulmark had shown up, and its appearance had given him a lot of food for thought.

What did he have to offer a girl like that? She obviously was classy and sassy, right? He could almost picture the wink that might accompany his words. So what would she want with a tired, PTSD-ridden ex-HYDRA assassin, who wasn't even fully human anymore? How would she react to his past? Would he even be able to BE in a relationship? What if he scared her? Or worse, hurt her?

Eventually he started really thinking about the words themselves and what they meant. Handsome, huh? He looked in the mirror and grimaced. How would he even have a chance with her if he looked like some sort of hobo? Ok, the homeless look would have to go. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. He had seen the pictures of himself with short hair from the exhibit at the museum. He wasn't that guy anymore though. But maybe a small change? Maybe get his hair trimmed up? And come on, would it kill him to shave once in a while?

After that, his progress sped up. He actually went to the therapy sessions that he was scheduled for and found, much to his own surprise, that they did indeed help. He was calmer, and more able to process the stimuli that was around him without feeling threatened. The serum ensured that his brain was healing from the damage dealt by repeated electric shocks. His memories continued to return, which was both good and bad. He remembered each and every traumatic thing he had experienced, saw the faces of his victims at night in his sleep. But he also remembered the good things, like the sound of his little sisters laughter, and the taste of his mothers apple crisp, sweet and juicy on his tongue. With the return of the good memories came a resurgence of interest in life in general. Slowly, he started venturing outside of Steve's apartment, joining the others in the common room and kitchen.

To his surprise, he was greeted, not with suspicion and fear, but with overtures of, dare he call it, friendship. Clint had been first, calmly challenging him to a shooting match. With a _marshmallow shooter_. Once he understood how it worked, it was Game ON. The contest had taken them through every floor of the tower via the duct work. Jarvis kept score as they hunted each other and took pot shots at other tower residents when the opportunity presented itself. By the time they had left the lab floors, the scientists were convinced there was something in the air causing spontaneous geysers of coffee. Only the covered cups were safe. They had continued in this fashion until they had accidentally come face to face in the ducts, and both had momentarily frozen in surprise.

In the ensuing struggle to get in the winning shot, one of the guns had gone off and with a“POP” a tiny, pastel pink projectile of sugar and air sped down through the vent, landing softly straight in the cleavage of one Natasha Romanov, who was sitting below, reading a report. To make matters worse, the vent cover had cracked under the strain of the two thrashing men, and popped open, leaving the two of them, arms twisted around to catch and block, hanging partway through the vent. Both men froze in horror, staring down as Natasha calmly looked down at the marshmallow, then up at the two of them. Both men felt their guts tighten at her expression. Bucky, showing the survival instincts that had seen him through years of chasing tiny Steve Rogers through the streets of Brooklyn, promptly let go of Bartons wrists, pointed at him and scooted backwards, out of sight. Clint's glare of betrayal only made him smirk, and Clint's whispered, “I will end you,” made him chuckle.

“We will be discussing this later Clint. At length.” Her voice was calm, and devoid of all inflection. Clint felt his asshole tighten in fear as he scooted backwards away from the vent, and went to hide in his Nest. They found later that Nat was right. They did discuss it. Thoroughly. Bucky however, was the only one who got glitter bombed.


	7. Chapter 7

The chance Darcy was waiting for came when Yorgi Korshunov, 'her' scientist, had to make a trip. He had ordered a halt to their experimentation, saying he wanted the results of the new projects to be unsullied by the current ones.

"Put her in a cell, make sure she is fed and get her healthy. When I return, there will be new ideas to try, so I want as fresh a canvas as possible!" He was disgusting in his glee.

So that was what happened. Her wrists were cuffed and she was chained to a ring in the wall, but for the first time in longer then she cared to contemplate, she was alone. She had room to move about, though the chain holding her was heavy, and she was permitted to really rest. With the orders to 'get her healthy', none of the usual group of peons wanted to risk Yorgi's wrath by indulging in their usual torments. For the first week, Darcy could do nothing but sleep, waking only to consume the water and food the lab assistants gave her and relieve herself. The second week, she pretended to sleep, all while working her wrists in the chain. She had no idea how long she had been here, but dammit, she was getting out!

She had lost a truly ridiculous amount of weight, her curves much smaller then she remembered, her wrists thinner. Getting out at first proved somewhat problematic. The cuffs were rough on the inside, and chaffed her skin when she pulled. _Blood makes such a good lubricant. Ill be lucky I don't get tetanus_ she thought with a grimace. With enough blood however, she was able to slip a wrist loose and then, when the next toady came with water, it was the big one, who was mostly the gopher for the group. She was able to steal a scalpel from his pocket without him noticing.

She cradled the scalpel in her hands when she was alone. What could she do with it? What was the best way to use it? She had noticed the scientists never came with guards anymore. Probably thought she was too weak or simple to do anything. _Can you lie to yourself like you lie to me?_ Tomorrow would bring the little one, the one who liked to pinch. Yes, he would be exactly what she needed. Darcy curled up to sleep some more.

When he arrived the next day, Darcy eyed him from behind her hair as she slowly rose from her blanket in the corner.  Shuffling forward to meet him, she snatched the bread from the tray and stepped slightly to the side. He sneered at her and turned fully away to set the tray down, his certainty of her weakness giving her the perfect opportunity.

Until the day she died, Darcy swore she had no idea **how** she did what she did. She stepped up behind him, wrapping her right hand around his face, stuffing her bread in his mouth as a muzzle and yanking his head backwards. Her left stabbed the scalpel into the side of his neck, knowledge of her own veins causing her to press her thumb along the back of the blade to increase the strength of the cut. She dug in with it, wiggling it around and trying to do as much damage as possible. Warmth drenched her hand and arms, and she desperately tried not to think about what that meant. How long was this going to take? Hunkering down behind him so he couldn't reach her in his flailing, she held her hand tight over the bread in his mouth, muting his screams and praying for it to be over soon. As he started to sag, she kicked the back of his knees to bring him further down. It was both the most horrifying and empowering 60 seconds of her life.

Dropping the body face down on the floor, she took his badge, key card and, after some hesitation, his lab coat. It was freezing, but she cringed as she pulled the bloody fabric over her shoulders. The blood flowed from under him into a large puddle on the floor, and she stepped onto his back to keep from getting her feet in it. The leftover warmth from his body soaked into her cold toes and she wretched helplessly. God, how much blood did one person have? Did death always smell so awful? She made her way to the door, scrubbing her hands on the coat. Peaking out, she saw the corridor was empty. She looked back once, wondering briefly at how she didn't even know the mans name, before slipping out the door and into the hallway.

Making her way along, clinging to the wall, she paused at an intersection. Which way to go? Chancing a peak around the corner, she saw a door to her left, and empty hallway to the right. Steps sounded down that hallway, sounding like marching. Marching meant military. Soldiers. Okay then, left it was.

The door she was making her way towards was innocuous-looking, but solid. It was slightly ajar, much to her chagrin and pleasure. What kind of idiot doesn't lock the doors in their base? But once she was in, she heard it click shut behind her. Was she trapped? Glancing round, she saw the room was full of computer monitors. She looked around the room further, thankful to find it was empty and that she hadn't chanced upon another scientist or worse, a guard. There was an office chair in front of the monitor bank. On reaching out to touch it, she found it was softer then anything she had touched in a long time. She sighed as she sat down, letting the cushion cradle her rump for a moment before she took a look at the computers. Each monitor showed different feeds from what she assumed were security cameras. Everything looked distressingly normal. Patrols, scientists, equipment.

“How do I get out though?” She examined the keyboard, and her heart sank. Cyrillic. Everything was in Cyrillic! Fuck! She couldn't read this! How was she going to get out? Crap! She had to get out! She jumped up from the chair and ran to the door. Better a dead escapee then a live experiment! But the door wouldn't budge. No matter how she pushed, yanked or twisted the handle, the door would not open. The large red letters above and to one side of it mocked her in their presence. “I cant read this!” She smacked the door and ran back to the computers. “Let me out!” She brought her hand down on a blue button that glowed brightly. Nothing happened. Again. Still nothing. Again! “Let me OUT!”

****

On the far side of the base, a startled fire control tech cursed aloud as the safety doors abruptly shut and engaged, locking himself and his colleagues in. The air lock for the fire suppression system had engaged with the team on the wrong side of the door.

****

Darcy continued to randomly hit buttons. Blue, green, red, gold, white. Nothing seemed to DO anything.! The more buttons she pressed, with no discernible result, the more distressed she found herself becoming. The Cyrillic letters mocked her in their clarity-easy to see, impossible to understand.

****

There was a hiss of air, and the team looked at each other, wondering what was going on. Was it getting harder to breath? By the time they realized the fire suppression system had kicked in, the CO2 concentration had risen in the room, and one by one, the team passed out.

****

Finally, it was too much. It was all just, too much. She seemed to be standing beside herself, watching as she completely lost her cool.

“LET ME OUT LEMME OUT YOU GOD DAMN SHIT STAINED PIECE OF RUSSIAN GARBAGE! I WANNA GO HOME! I WANT MY MIKE! I WANT...I WANT... JUST LET ME OUT!"

****

One by one, seals began popping on vents and gas pipes throughout the facility. Slowly, the gas was beginning to spread. In the labs, Scientist Karpov was putting the moves on Miss Koreavo. He thought things were going well, as she blushed and smiled shyly at him. He was utterly confused when she suddenly looked at him, wide eyed, and the blush drained from her face. She quickly bid him a good day and left the lab. He sniffed. Did he smell?

****

In another part of the base, a tiny but important alarm went unheard, as the wire connecting to the speaker had heated too much and come apart. The natural gas pressure continued to rise as the alarm went ignored, and the valve unreleased.

****

Darcy continued to cry, continued to rage against her machine, which was preventing her from escaping. Her hand came down on a large white button in one corner, unknowingly starting a chain reaction. The button lit up, and though she didn't know it, the air exchange system kicked on. This started a convection current, which was drawing everything currently in the air, throughout the entire base. She hit a second button, which closed the intake valves from the outside, preventing the venting of contaminated air. And way down in B4, the over loaded splice that had begun to overheat the moment current had been put through it again, finally melted enough to expose the wire, which, since it was hanging loose, came into contact with the metal of the surrounding access way. Sparks began to sputter and jump, as the current looked to ground itself.

The first inkling anyone had that something was wrong, was when a small fire broke out in the coolant room. It wasn't really an issue, and the techs put it out using a hand held fire extinguisher. They checked the equipment, and it looked fine. Must be a fluke, right? Everyone go about your business, being evil and all that. Then in the guard barracks, one of the men went to go have a smoke break, and couldn't get the damn door open! What the hell? Others came over, looking at the door, puzzling over the situation, passing flasks back and forth. The gas was already affecting their ability to make judgements. Finally, one decided he had had enough and was going to smoke his cigarette right there, and if the komandir had an issue, he could kiss his ass. The man lit up, and the barracks was promptly immolated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a weekend? Cool! The song referenced in this chapter is Burn, by Jo Dee Messina. Enjoy!

Natasha watched in the rear view mirror as the HYDRA base she had just infiltrated and escaped from exploded in a huge cloud of dust, debris and fire. With no small amount of both personal and professional satisfaction, she listened to the roar of the explosion as it rolled across the cold landscape, even as the breeze running before it buffeted the vehicle she had stolen. The giggling coming from the occupant of the passenger seat however, made the hair on her neck stand up. It had no root in genuine humor.

Glancing sideways out of the corner of her eye, she tried once again to wrap her head around what it looked like she was seeing. Fosters intern from Thor's first landing. Looking...rather the worse for wear. And her looks were somewhat different from the pictures Clint had shown her. The hair was more auburn then chocolate, though that might have been the lighting. Most telling of course was the woman's own assertion that she was Darcy Mitchell, thank you very much. Since when had she gotten married?

Last Clint had mentioned, Darcy was coming to the tower with Dr Foster. That was close to a month ago. Natasha had had to go dark for a mission shortly after and had heard nothing since. Fury had tasked her with the retrieval of information from the chemical factory, and if it was as they suspected, destroy it all. She had found more then she anticipated in those chilly concrete halls.

It had taken several weeks to make certain of the delivery schedules of different materials, to map the comings and goings of the guards and scientists, and see what the best route in would be. It had taken a handful of days to insert herself into a team that would get her as far in as she needed. Once they had, she had slipped away, silent as a shadow. And while no one had noticed her, alarms had caused pandemonium through the facility.

Natasha found herself in a building with poor lighting, and cold, ugly walls. She walked down the corridor, and finally found the freight elevators. Ha! 4 sub-floors, just what she was looking for. She pushed B4 and then hid. When the doors opened and the lift proved empty, she stepped in and waited. The elevator moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to hide.

It opened on a damp concrete hallway, dimly lit with old, flickering fluorescent bulbs. Moisture beaded on the walls, proved that they were quite far underground. People moved in the corridors, and Natasha was thankful they were far enough away to have missed her arrival. She made a face at the smell of rotten eggs. What _were_ they doing down here? Faintly, she could hear a mechanical voice in Russian.

Отказ Сдерживание. Пожалуйста, перейдите к эвакуационным путям. Containment failure? What the hell?

Dodging both military and science personnel, she had headed for the control room, gun loaded and door code ready. _Thank you Jarvis._ She had been shocked to find the door unlocked, loose in its frame and swinging easily. She had stepped in, gun up and ready only to stop and stare at the tiny woman yelling hoarsely in English, smacking the control panel repeatedly.

“You goddamn piece of shit piece of Russian garbage! Let me OUT you good for nothing chuck of scrap!” Natasha winced as 'Отказ Сдерживание. Пожалуйста, перейдите к эвакуационным путям' was heard again. “Don't fucking yell at me! I don't speak Russian dammit!”

Natasha drew a pistol and stepped fully into the room, pointing the gun at the girl. “I think that's enough, don't you?” The girl drew a sharp breath and backed away from Natasha, who could see she had obviously been poorly treated, her skin rough, body thinner then it should be and dark circles around her eyes. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The girl just looked at her a moment before simply seeming to collapse in on herself. She flopped back into the chair and stared back at Natasha for a moment, before saying softly, “My name is Darcy. Darcy Mitchell. I'm hiding and I was trying to get out. And now I'm asking you to just kill me instead of making me go back.” She slumped further, and Natasha felt an unusual sympathy. Sometimes death looked appealing. She holstered her pistol and came closer. “You look familiar. Do you work with Dr. Foster?” The woman just looked confused.

“I'm a stay at home mom. Who is Dr. Foster?”

“Never mind. Lets see what all is going on out there and get some information.” Nat stepped up to the computer and started looking over the displays, feeling the bottom drop out of her stomach as she did so. She looked over at Darcy. “Was it just random buttons you were hitting?”

“Yes, why?”

“Oh shit!” The room was abruptly rocked with an explosion that sent the girl-Darcy- in her chair rolling back toward the door.

“Hey-wheee!” Darcy put her feet down and scooted forward again, looking at the screens as plaster started raining down and yelling was heard in the corridor.

“We need to move! NOW!” Natasha grabbed her arm, hauling the tiny woman to her feet and out of the room. A quick glance both ways down the corridor, and Natasha was pulling her along, fingers hard on her arm. “We are going to the underground garage. We're gonna steal a car and get out, OK?” Darcy was not tracking as well as she should be. Natasha shook her arm a bit. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah OK. “ Darcy straightened up a bit, walked a little more firmly. They made it a few more corridors before a second explosion rocked the hallway, knocking them both off balance and sending sparks from the lights flying through the air. “Where are we going?”

“We are gonna steal a car and I'm gonna get you out of here.” Natasha was somewhat nonplussed when Darcy giggled up at her. People didn't **giggle** at the Black Widow. The green eyed brunette looked around the hallway, with its fallen bits of masonry and sparking electric lights. Nat slowly shook her head and just towed her along.

Finding the garage was easy, as it turned out. The trouble was, the electrical issues the facility was experiencing made it almost impossible to enter the code to open the door before the panel went dark again. It kept dying and flickering to life, dying again and lighting up again. Nat finally used a Clint method, smacking the panel sharply, which lit up obediently and gave her a green light. Dragging Darcy in after her, they found a jeep and hopped in, just as soldiers flooded in from a side door.

Darcy yelped and ducked as bullets peppered the back of the vehicle. Nat wasted no time in reaching under the steering column, grabbing wires and getting a spark to start the engine. She sat up and with a quick “Hold on!” floored the gas. They lurched toward the huge door, that lead to a tunnel which Natasha only hoped would be a way out. More gunfire was heard, as well as a cry of fear from the passenger seat. Glancing over, she saw Darcy hunkered down, but peaking over the back of the seat to see what was behind. There was a strange whooshing noise and Natasha felt her own eyes widen. There was only **one** noise like that.

“Go faster!” Natasha didn't bother to nod, just mashed the gas pedal hard, running the engine into the red line and barrelled down the tunnel. The guns had stopped but the noise continued. Fire was the only thing that sounded like that. Traveling fast.

Up ahead, was that? Yes! A patch of sky! Gunning the engine again, Natasha made for the exit as fast as the jeep could move. Heat was creeping closer to their tails, and Nat felt her hair start to singe. They exploded out of the tunnel, barely ahead of the raging fire ball that cleared the tunnel and was only a tiny offshoot of the enormous explosion that roared skyward behind them. Darcy was up on her knees in the passenger seat, head back and laughing hysterically. As they continued away, Darcy turned around and sat properly, still giggling to herself. Nat wondered if everything had been too much. Then the young woman broke into song.

I want you to BURN

Burn for me bastards

like a candle, in the night

oh burn

burn for me burn for me

It sounded like a bastardization of one of the country songs Clint liked to listen to. Despite the creepy factor, Natasha could tell the girl had a decent voice, if a little roughened from smoke, fear and yelling. Speaking of Clint, he would be a good one to help her with this. There was no way that had NOT been a HYDRA facility, though she had seen no evidence their symbol. Were they only backing the research and stealing the results? Nick would know. Natasha drove via a circuitous route back to the quinjet she had been loaned and after ditching the jeep, pulled the girl into it with her.

“Strap in. We have a bit of a flight.” Darcy nodded and did so, fumbling with the harness only a little.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe. You can lay low for a bit, then get in touch with your people. Does Thor keep an eye on you?” At this question, Natasha got her second indication that this was not who she thought it might be.

“Who-is Thor?” The confused expression was obvious enough, and now that Natasha had the time to notice, the eyes were also different. Green, not blue.

“We will sort everything out when we get where we're going. Why don't you try and get some rest, little one. Like I said, its a bit of a flight.” Natasha handed her a blanket and watched out of the corner of her eye as the girl curled up in the chair, despite the harness, covered herself with the blanket and promptly passed out. Once they reached cruising height, Natasha tried, once again, to wrap her head around what she was seeing.

This looked like Fosters intern. The girl from Thor's first landing who Clint had basically 'collected', like a puppy. But, she looked...different too. Her features were subtly different from the pictures Clint had shown her. The nose a little shorter, her hair was slightly more auburn then chocolate, in addition to the eyes. Natasha didn't like mysteries. They caused problems. Last Clint had told her, Darcy Lewis was coming to the tower with Dr Foster. That had been close to a month ago, and she had had to go dark on this mission shortly after. She had heard nothing since. Clint. She had best get the girl to Clint. Retired or not, he was her partner, and would be able to help her get this situation sorted.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual cookies if you spot the Tumblr idea in this one. Have fun!

The first time Clint Barton met Darcy Maxine Lewis was after SHIELD responded to a strange event in Puenta Antigua, New Mexico. The town was in the middle of nowhere, and there was very little in the way of entertainment. The whole town had converged on the thing that fell to earth and looked like a hammer. Before SHIELD was able to arrive and contain the place, several people had made repeated attempts to lift the hammer and when that proved impossible, had taken it as a challenge. More then one beer-gutted individual had lost the bumper to his truck trying to haul the then-unknown Mjolnir out of the hole into which she had embedded herself.

 

SHIELD had taken over with their usual methods, intimidation though governmental paperwork and a bland smile. None of the scientists they had employed had been able to move the hammer either. It had been a large shock to have a really huge blond guy break in, beat their security like errant puppies, and actually make it all the way to the center of the complex SHIELD had set up. Clint had greatly enjoyed watching the most obnoxious members of the security team have their collective asses handed to them by a single guy. Once that guy had proved unable to lift the hammer either, all the fight had gone out of him and he had subsequently been arrested and then freed on Coulson's orders.

 

Clint hadn't thought any more of it until the town was attacked by some huge flaming death bot straight out of a comic book or science fiction. The blond guy had turned out to be a lot more then just muscle and had, with the help of a few friends from out of town, saved the tiny community from being wiped off the map. While there were no deaths and only a few injuries, there resultant insurance mess was nothing short of a nightmare. More people then really should have been able to fit packed into the only bar in town to complain about the situation and that is where and when Clint met Darcy, or Max as she insisted on being called.

 

He had seen her before of course, but dismissed her as irrelevant when her background check came up clean. An intern and good friend of Dr. Jane Foster, she was the epitome of the 20 something college student, a millennial woman who was working on keeping her boss/friend alive and getting her science credits so she could finally graduate. The meeting did not have an auspicious beginning.

 

Clint had gone to the bar to get an idea of what peoples opinions were on the suits who were helping rebuild the town but were unable to assist with insurance claims. Coulson was generally indifferent to public opinion since SHIELD was a secret organization, but if people were feeling generally hostile towards the agents, it was a good idea to know. Fore warned is fore armed, and all that.

 

He had been sipping his beer and listening to the crowd when one guy, who apparently had had too many started snapping his fingers in the air at the brunette girl who was trying to squeeze in between a couple of guys at the bar. It was clear to Clint that all she wanted was a drink. He winced as he watched.

 

snap snap “Scuse me! Waitress! I wanna nother one!” The man waved his beer bottle. When the brunette turned around, she had a smile on her face that had Clint straightening in his chair. The only time Laura had ever given him that look, he had ended up sleeping in the barn for a week. Before the roof was fixed. While it was raining. He still shivered at the memory. The brunette strolled over to the man, bland smile on her face and eyes filled with enough ice to chill a drink.

 

“Hi, what can I get you?”

 

“I wan” **snap snap**. She clicked her fingers close enough to his face that he flinched back.

 

“Is that annoying?” **snap snap** “Is that rude and disrespectful?” **snap snap** “Would you find it hard to drink your beer while someone did that to you?” **snap snap snap snap** “Finally, do I _look_ like a waitress to you?” She indicated her sweater and jeans combo, notably with a lack of apron. The other waitress was wearing a top that was low enough to say 'trying too hard' and a skirt that looked more like a belt. The apron was actually longer then the skirt. The drunk guy got mad.

 

“Whatever bitch! I wanna beer!”

 

“Then get up off your pathetic rear and go to the bar you drunken ass-munch!” This had of course, pissed the drunk off and he had tried to fight Darcy. Tried being the operative word. It had not gone well. He had taken a swing at her, she had ducked and then promptly tased the guy. He fell into a drooling pile of twitching human who then had to be manhandled out the door by the large individual who was acting as a bouncer.

 

Clint waited until she switched the taser off and tucked it in her pocket. She was muttering under her breath as he approached.

 

“We who are about to die salute you motherfucker!” She didn't sound drunk, just exasperated. When he got her attention though, she took a halfhearted swing at him. “No jackbooted thugs! I want my I-pod back!” He dodged, and then leaned in, placing his fingers gently but firmly on her wrist.

 

“Whoa there, Maximus! I come in peace!” He indicated her taser, now safely tucked away in her pocket again. “How did you get that back from Coulson and not get your I-pod?” She eyed him up and down, from his black boots to his t-shirt. It was a favorite of his, giving a step by step stick figure drawing on how to pick up chicks. The fluffy yellow kind. One eyebrow arched as she met his eyes.

 

“I had a backup. You thug types aren't the only ones who kick ass!” She scowled then. “You gonna try and take this too, Tweety?” The look on her face said she would more then likely try to zap him if he tried. He shook his head, chuckling.

 

“Nah Maximus, you put it to good use. Was kinda fun to watch actually.” She had made a face, before grinning reluctantly.

 

“Its just Max, actually. My middle name is Maxine.” Their unlikely friendship grew over the next several weeks, before he was called away to deal with something elsewhere, and Max and Jane were shipped off to Tromso.

 

They had reconnected at Natasha's urging after the Battle of New York, mostly because Max wouldn't stop calling and leaving increasingly lurid voice mails informing him of what she was planning to do if he didn't get off his duff and fucking call her!

 

When he had, they had taken up their friendship as if it had never paused, and her simple acceptance of his issues, his trauma, had been an immense comfort. When she followed Jane to London, they kept in touch, though it was few and far between due to his missions. He had been in the wind when SHIELD fell, which was why he was unable to answer his phone when Darcy tried to call him during the Dark Elf fiasco.

 

It had been a comfort to both of them that time when they finally reconnected. He had put Dr. Foster in touch with Stark, who was very interested in her theories on holes ripped though the universe in a controlled manner. His trip with a bomb through the hole over New York was something he really didn't want to repeat. Arrangements had been made, and Max and Jane had remained in London for a while longer, but with a good deal more funding and better equipment.

 

That lasted until the Ultron Fiasco ™. When Ultron took over, their computers had eaten their data and returned nothing but gibberish. Once Ultron had been defeated, Stark had invited the two to New York and they had agreed, though Jane took a good deal of convincing and insisted that she would use her own equipment from then on.

 

Clint had been at the airport to greet them when they arrived, but had informed Max that he was likely retiring and going home to his farm. She wished him well and settled into New York life at the tower, which made taking care of Jane much easier. She and Clint talked on the phone from time to time, as siblings are wont to do. He was rather proud to be the second person she told about finding her soulmate in Steve Rogers, the first being Jane.

****

The first time Clint met Darcy Mitchell however, was an altogether different experience. Natasha had been sent on a mission around the time he had “retired” and gone home. It had been radio silence, so the first he knew about it being over was when Natasha showed up on his doorstep accompanied by a blood covered brunette. Clint had been struck by a weird sense of deja vu when they came in but dismissed it as shades of memory. Laura had joined them and she and Natasha had helped the girl to the couch, tucking a blanket around her legs and trying to make her comfortable. The woman was very loopy and Natasha told him that she hadn't slept much in the last two days. However, it wasn't until Laura had brought a basin of warm water and a cloth and gotten her face wiped free of soot and dirt that Clint registered why she looked so familiar. He started to his feet in surprise.

 

“Max?!” He reached a hand toward her cheek, stopping when she flinched. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh my god, Max, what the hell?” He looked from her to Nat, wondering how his little sister-figure, who should have been in New York, ended up here. And yet, was it really her? The woman on his couch looked at him with eyes that were most definitely NOT the shade of blue he was expecting. Instead, eyes the color of new leaves looked at him in confusion.

 

“Max? What-I...have we met? Am...am I supposed to know you?” She sounded like she was about to cry and Clint hastened to reassure her.

 

“I...no sweetie, you just look like a friend of mine-threw me for a second.” He knelt next to the couch so she wouldn't have to look so far up. “Shes got blue eyes though. Her name's Darcy, but she goes by Max. What's yours?”

 

“ _My_ name is Darcy. Darcy Mitchell. And I've _got_ blue eyes. At least, I think?” She bit her lip. Clint swallowed hard, wondering what the hell had happened. He met Natasha's eyes again, and gave a minuscule nod when hers indicated that he should meet her in the kitchen. Natasha shooed him away a bit and leaned closer to Darcy, speaking softly. 

 

“OK little one. You rest here and let Laura take care of you. Shes Clint's wife and she wont hurt you, I promise. Ill be right back, OK?” Darcy nodded reluctantly and Natasha stepped into the kitchen, joined by Clint. They shared a quick look and he fished a Stark phone from out of a drawer and dialed a number in New York. It rang twice before the video picked up. The voice on the other side was hoarse from exhaustion, the man blinking rapidly.

 

“I swear to God, Barton, this had better be good.” Stark sounded like he had been in the lab for at least two days, and looked about the same. His hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were red with dark circles around them. Clint gritted his teeth as he held the phone between himself and Natasha, enabling them both to see and hear.

 

“What happened to Max and why wasn't I called?” Clint was so beyond pissed it made his head spin. “How long has she been missing?”

 

“Missing? What are you talking about?” Tony sounded genuinely confused. Clint frowned and explained.

 

“When I left NY, Steve was settling in with his buddy and had just met his soulmate. Darcy Lewis- Foster's intern. Ring any bells? Blue eyes, long hair, curvy? Goes by Max.”

 

“Yeah... Short and Stacked. She messes with Dummy. Makes good coffee though.” Tony sounded even more confused. “What about her?”

 

“What happened over there that she is now sitting on my couch with different eyes and she doesn't know me? Cap's gotta be frantic! And why did no one tell me about this?”

 

“Barton, you're not making sense. Max hasn't gone anywhere. Steve pulled her out of the labs earlier when Thor came and got Foster. Jarvis!” Tony leaned away from the screen and looked up. “Where are Lewis and Capsicle?”

 

“Ms. Lewis and Captain Rogers are currently in their quarters sir. They have advised me to tell you that-”

 

“Ack, no! Don't tell me any more! I don't wanna know!” Tony squawked at the AI before coming back to Clint. “See? Safe and sound.”

 

“Can you connect me to them?”

 

“Fine, but all pranks are on you, birdbrain. Jarvis, the Caps room please.” The phone rang several times before the screen lit up with his little sisters image. She was sleep-rumpled, grouchy looking and wearing a t-shirt that obviously belonged to someone a lot bigger then herself. Clint did his best to ignore it.

 

“I swear to Thor, Tweety, if this is a crank call I'm gonna make sure you fall off every building you ever come across. Then I'mma get the film from J-man and put it on YouTube with Raining Men as a soundtrack!” Clint was completely unable to mask his relief at hearing her.

 

“Nah Max, just checking in. Why are you in bed?”

 

“Jane says Science sleeps for no one.” She yawned hugely. “We just got off a three day bender because of a “breakthrough” and Steve just got back from a mission. So I had Thor carry her out. I'm gonna go back to sleep. Don't call here until at least Thursday.”

 

“It IS Thursday.”

 

“Fuck. Saturday then. G'night.” And she hung up.

 

Breathing out a breath he hadn't been fully aware he was holding, he thanked Stark and hung up. Putting the phone away, he turned to Natasha and simply raised an eyebrow. She met his look with one of her own.

 

“What happened Nat?”

 

She told him.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky interlude number 2. I could not make this flow any other way. I apologize for how short it is.

Bucky had been living in Steve's spare room for about 4 months when he started wondering if he should move out and get his own place. Tasha's revenge a la glitter bomb for the Marshmallow Incident, as Bucky called it, had ensured he shed glitter at both unexpected and inopportune times for months. Steve assured him the glitter wasn't that bad and the cleaning robots would get it all eventually. Bucky grumbled about needing a cleaning robot specifically for his arm. Tony had offered to build him one, but unfortunately, the resulting small robot developed a somewhat unhealthy fixation on Thor's hammer. Mjolnir had not been pleased, but the resulting pyrotechnics had been entertaining, if bad for the carpets.

By the time the sixth month rolled around, he was _positive_ he needed to move out. Fast. The reason behind this was a curvy brunette by the name of Darcy Lewis.

“Call me Max,” she said when Steve introduced them. Turned out, she was Steve's soulmate! And while he was thrilled for his best friend/brother, he was getting heartily sick of walking in on the two of them in...compromising positions. 

“The kitchen table Steve? You eat there!” Steve had looked at him with an absolutely shit eating grin and said, “Yes, yes I do.” Bucky had frozen momentarily and then laughed out loud, despite the blush.

“You little punk! I definitely need a new place then. No WAY do I wanna see more of your girl then she wants to show me.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and took the smack with good grace.

Steve had let Pepper know what was needed, and she agreed, setting him up in a smaller apartment down the hall from Steve's place. It had a single bedroom, and with the kitchen, bath and living rooms, was more then enough for him. Having his own space to take care of gave him more of a sense of accomplishment too, and his therapist assured him this was a good thing. He was also finally cleared to start training with the rest of the team. It would be a while yet before he was cleared for field work, but it was yet another step in the right direction. Bucky was very pleased with how his life was turning out, for the most part. But he found that he was lonely too.

Steve was wrapped up with Max, and rightfully so. Bucky played Mario Kart with Sam, and trained, but that could only take up so much of his day. He wanted to get out, to see the city. How much had it changed in the last 70 years? What was the same? Bruce took it upon himself to start introducing him to different ethnic foods he had never had the chance to try. Thai was a definite favorite. Indian was fine, as long as he didn't mind having his mouth burned off. But he couldn't bring himself to try sushi. The idea of eating perfectly good fish, raw of all things, just squicked him. No thanks.

Still, there was only so much takeout one can experience. He wanted to get out into the city for more then a morning run with Steve. Help came in the form of an unexpected gift from Max.

“Uh, Max, what _is_ that?”

“That, as you put it, is actually a who. Her name is Emma. She's your new therapy dog!” Steve was standing behind his soulmate, snickering into his hand. Damn punk. Max grabbed Bucky's right hand and dropped a bright green leash into it.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” The dog was decidedly odd looking. She had a face like an English bulldog, but was much taller and longer bodied. Her legs were thick and long enough to put her eye level with his thighs. Her chest and back were thick with muscle, and her stub of a tail was going so hard her entire rear was swinging back and forth. Despite all the wiggles, she hadn't barked or jumped on him once. He knelt down to say hello and was promptly swamped by drooling, affectionate dog.

“Ak, no” was all he was able to get out before he was flat on his back with doggy paws on his shoulders and her squirming weight on his chest. He flailed, trying to push her off as she proceeded to wash his face from collar to hairline in long, slobbery wet licks. By the time Max had been able to pull her off of him, she and Steve were laughing fit to fall over. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he was desperate for a wash. Despite his disgust at this, he realized that he had never felt threatened by the dog. Hadn't even considered reacting violently. Her warmth had been...kinda nice actually. He glared at his laughing friends.

“Punk, did you put her up to this?”

“No Buck...I swear * **wheeze*** but if I had...oh god...”Steve was laughing so hard he could hardly respond.

“Sick 'im” Bucky muttered under his breath. Then it was his turn to laugh as, with a happy woof, Emma proceeded to do exactly that. She sprang at Steve's bent over form, her front paws meeting his shoulders and shoving him backwards. He landed on his butt with a squawk, Emma on his chest, shoving her cold wet nose into his neck, squirming and licking and whining all the while. Steve flailed as ineffectually as Bucky had, the dogs wiggling preventing his escape. Bucky found himself laughing so hard he cried, and it felt so good to do so. To let the joy at seeing something so funny just roll through him. Max was laughing too hard to help Steve, so it was a good five minutes before anyone was able to calm down enough to pull Emma back.

“Emma, down. He-he-heel.” She hopped off his best friend and trotted obediently to him, sitting comfortably on his left foot. “Good enough,” he grinned down at her. She looked up at him, mouth open, tongue hanging out and big doggy grin in place. Looking up again, he smiled. “Thanks Max. I'm gonna take her for a walk.” She smiled back and waved him off.

“Ok then. Ill have the food put in your kitchen ok?” He waved over his shoulder, already heading for the elevator.

“Sounds good!” And it was. Emma opened a whole new avenue of experiences for him, both good and bad. She got between him and others when people got too close, which helped him have the space he needed to stay calm in public without Steve. He was able to walk her every day in the park and no one cared. He was free to explore as much as the two of them together had the energy for. She also drooled a lot, snuck onto his bed when he wasn't looking, stole his laundry and hid it in her bed if he left it out, and once, ate a shoe. The resultant mess from _that_ was enough to disgust both of them, and she avoided his footwear afterward.

Having another warm blooded creature depend on him, being needed, was yet another step in healing for Bucky. He found that even on bad days, when he just wanted to hide away from the world, he would still get up and walk Emma, feed her and play with her. He couldn't just let her suffer when she trusted him for her care.

The best thing though, was that when he woke from nightmares about his time in captivity, or dreams in which his soulmate rejected him. She was there, warm and friendly, not afraid of him at all. She let him have a safe place to let go, without worrying about burdening his friends. She helped him find some peace. It was from this peace that he was able to really reach out to the other people around him. To begin making the connections that would become friendships.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings everyone. I am SO sorry it has been so long. I had a rather horrible personal issue come up and it completely depleted me of creative energy. Hopefully the next will not be so long in coming.

Darcy sat on the couch and just watched what was going on around her, her mind in a haze. The redhead-Natasha-and the man named Clint were off talking, and the woman in front of her-Laura?- was gently wiping blood off her arms with a damp cloth. It was warm. _She_ was warm. They had given her a blanket. A _soft_ one. It felt good. Really good. But wasn't it going to get dirty? She was so gross by this point. Showers were not something she had been permitted by THEM. Just the hose, which was always cold.

 

Her eyes followed the hands rubbing her arms with the cloth. Laura's hands. Her eyes wandered up the other womans arms to her torso and then her face. Soft brown hair, kind eyes. A gentle smile. No sharp edges. No cold eyes. But, what if it wasn't real? What if...Darcy lunged forward suddenly, grasping Laura's hands in hers. Her voice tight and frantic with fear, she asked “I'm safe?”

 

“Yes. You are.” Laura hastened to reassure her, rubbing her thumbs gently over Darcy's knuckles. Darcy blinked. Once. Twice.

 

“Can...can I sleep? Is it ok? No needles?” Her eyes were drooping. Could she rest?

 

“Yes you can sleep. No needles. ” Laura sounded distressed. Darcy was drifting, but she hoped it wasn't serious. “Are you hungry at all? I can make some soup...” But Darcy was already fading, her voice becoming slurred and breathy.

 

“Sleep...dark...no nee'les. Safe,” and she was out. Laura stared at her for a minute. She had fallen asleep so fast. Poor girl. Shaking her head at the thought of what her husbands partner must have gotten up to, Laura cleaned the rest of the blood off the womans arms as best she could. Woah! The lab coat she wore was caked in it. How had that happened? Clint's uniforms were often gross, but not usually so...covered. Laura foresaw laundry in her future. She shook the thought away as Clint and Nat came in from the kitchen.

 

Natasha walked over and peered over the couch at the sleeping woman. “How is she, Laura?”

 

“Sleeping. I'm not sure how well or how long that will last, to be honest. What happened?” Despite being a civilian, Laura was one of only a handful of people who had Natasha's full trust. So she told the story again, only slightly edited for security, explaining the lab she had infiltrated and the horrors she had found there.

 

“She obviously got up close and personal to someone bleeding a lot.” Clint gestured toward the arms of the lab coat. “That kind of mess isn't from distance.”

 

“Clint, is she safe around the kids? Do you think she'd...hurt them?” Laura looked sick at the very idea.

 

“Ill keep an eye on her. You stay with the kids tonight, ok Laura? Ill keep watch.”

 

“I need to send a report to Fury anyway.” Natasha rose. “Ill see you both in the morning.”

 

“Ok Nat. Sleep well. Let me get you a fresh towel.” Clint listened as two of the women in his life headed upstairs, their voices fading as they went. Settling into a chair across from the couch, Clint pulled out a book and prepared himself to stay awake.

 

 

The brain is a funny thing. It regulates and monitors the body for stress, needs, hormone fluctuation and all the other little automatic things the body needs in order to function correctly. It also heals in often amazing ways. So when the body is too depleted of sleep, the brain will shut it down once it is safe to do so. To meet the needs of the body, the brain will sometimes refuse to address or process trauma until the body is in (slightly) better physical shape. This is how Darcy slept through almost a full night and day, waking in the evening her second day in Clint's home.

 

When she woke, it was to the smell of dinner wafting through the house. She opened her eyes in surprise, and looked around. That was NOT her ceiling. Where was...oh, right... At the realization that it wasn't all a dream, she slumped and covered her eyes with a groan. The sound brought the attention of Natasha, who had been helping Cooper and Lila set the table.

 

“Welcome back. Sleep well?” Darcy blinked at her a moment, brow furrowed.

 

“Natasha, right?” Nat nodded. “I-ok I guess. How long was I out?”

 

“Almost 24 hours. Hungry?” Darcy's stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl. She blushed and Nat smiled. “Ill take that as a yes. Good.” Clint stuck his head in the living room then.

 

“Ladies, dinner will be about half an hour. Darcy, do you want to have a shower and get cleaned up?”

 

“A shower? Oh god, _yes_ PLEASE!” Nat and Clint shared a look and Nat nodded a little before turning to Darcy and gesturing her to follow.

 

“This way. Ill get you a towel. You look like a pair of Laura's sweats will fit if we roll the legs. You will have to make due with one of Clint's shirts though.” Darcy nodded. Her chest had always been a little bigger then conventional sises allowed for, even before she had a baby. Now...well, small they were not.

 

Natasha showed her to the bathroom and handed her a towel, toothbrush and clean clothing. “Take as much time as you need. Dinner will keep, ok?” Darcy nodded and waited until Natasha had left the bathroom. For the first time in so long, she was behind a closed door in a clean place and would be able to shower. Thank goodness.

 

Putting the things down on the closed toilet lid, she quickly stripped out of the remains of her clothes, kicking them aside to burn later. She was surprised she wasn't more sore. Oh well, that wasn't really unexpected anymore. Since the... _experiments..._ she made herself think the word _._ Since them, she had healed faster then usual when injured. It was part of why they hadn't killed her, she supposed. They wanted to see what made her tick. Grimacing at the dark turn in her thoughts, she turned to the shower and after turning it on and setting the temperature, climbed in. 

 

Bliss. It was the only word that fit. Sheer bliss. Heat wrapped around her, and there was good shampoo and conditioner and soap. She went through quite a bit of the conditioner trying to pull her fingers through the tangles of her hair. What a mess. She watched the resultant hairball swirl momentarily before going down the drain. Maybe she could let the whole experience be like the hairball? Nasty, but something she could pick off, ball up and rid herself of? She snorted at the thought. Yeah right. Counseling was gonna be a must. Damn.

 

Finally turning off the water, she grabbed the towel and dried herself off before wrapping her hair in it. Stepping over to the clothes, she pulled the shirt on first, then reached for the toothbrush. In doing so, she stepped close to the mirror and caught her reflection for the first time in how ever many months it had been. She stilled, staring at the woman reflected back at her.  


 

Clint, Nat and Laura all froze as a shriek echoed through the house before cutting off abruptly, originating from the bathroom upstairs. Sharing a quick look, Nat and Clint bolted for the source of the scream as Laura tried to keep little Nathaniel calm.

 

Bursting into the bathroom, they found no threats, just a completely terrified house guest, backed up against the side of the tub, staring at her reflection in the mirror with her hands clapped over her mouth.

 

“What is it little one?” Nat went toward her, reaching out but not touching.

 

“Its not ME! Who _is_ that? What happened to me? What did they _do_?” Darcy's voice shook and she was rapidly descending into babbling as shock coursed through her. She had noted a new slimness to her waist and hips in the shower that she had put down to lack of food. But now, looking in the mirror, her body was...different. It looked like it had never carried a baby. Her breasts were roughly the same size she remembered, so far as she could tell, but her waist was down to pre-baby slimness, and all the marks that showed she had given birth to a child were simply _gone_. Her hands was different-smoother then she was used to. But the worst were her eyes. The sky blue she had had for as long as she could remember were simply gone. Replaced with a green that looked like it belonged on a tree! Its wasn't that they weren't pretty, but they weren't HERS.

 

Natasha wrapped Darcy up in her arms as the tiny woman began to cry. Shaking her head at Clint, she indicated he should leave them be. He did, and Nat continued to hold Darcy, rocking her back and forth. Stroking her hair and murmuring softly to her in Russian. Darcy finally started to quiet down, her breathing harsh but steady.  
  
“Come now little one, can you explain what exactly is the problem?”

 

“I saw my-myself in the mirror. But, its not...not the _me_ I was expecting. I...I didn't recognize myself.” Natasha internally flinched. Looking in the mirror and seeing something other then what was expected made for a nasty shock, she well knew. “My eyes-they're _green_! They're supposed to be _blue!_ And little things, like scars, that I never really thought about but were a part of me, they're GONE. Its...I wasn't sure if maybe they took away my body and...and put me in something or some _one_ else.”

 

Natasha stilled, then asked carefully, “Do you believe that's what happened?”

 

“I...no. I look different, but the shape is the same. I'm still...me I guess. This is still my body.”

 

“Not to be rude, but how do you know?”

 

“My ring, for one.” Darcy held her left hand out, and Natasha looked at the simple gold band around her ring finger. “Its the same. The marks on it, the inscription. They're all there. So...so I know they gave me...stuff that made me different. I'm not sure all the ways how, but I don't seem to need my glasses, and they kept...hurting me...because I healed so much faster then I did at first.” Natasha gave an internal shudder. Serum? More serum experiments? Shit.

 

“Can we call anyone for you?” Natasha wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the excited babble about a husband in Oregon isn't it. “Ok, lets go eat and you can call.”

 

When they got downstairs, Clint and Laura were in the kitchen, Laura by the baby, Clint between the door and the other two kids. The tension only showed to those who knew him well, but he only relaxed when Natasha gave him a nod. Darcy came in shyly, with a small smile for Laura and a much warmer one for the children. She focused on Lila a moment, then suddenly grinned. 

 

“My daughter...looks kinda like you. Paler hair though.” This sparked off a conversation between Darcy, Lila and Cooper about her daughter Marie, who was 5. The adults made occasional comments but mostly let the kids carry the weight of the talking. Darcy wasn't afraid of the kids, though she flinched minutely around Clint. Laura remained slightly tense throughout dinner, though Natasha and Clint still watched like hawks.

 

Finally, Clint used signs to have a more detailed conversation with Natasha. “ _What is she doing? Shes acting too normal.”_

 

“ _Shes trying to behave normally. Likely isn't as afraid of me or Laura because we're women. You may scare her for a while”_

 

“ _Tony will be able to help with a shrink until she can get home.”_

 

When dinner was over, Darcy helped Laura clear the table and asked if she could possibly use a phone. Natasha pulled out her phone and handed it to her. Darcy opened it, dialed and held the phone to her ear.

 

Beep beep beep I'm _sorry. The number you are trying to reach does not exist. Please check the number and try your call again._

 

“What the?” She dialed again, and got the same message. “Third times the charm?” Her voice wobbled as she dialed a third time only to get the same result. “Um, looks like the number may have changed. Do you have internet? Can I send an email?” She was shown to an old laptop, and spent several minutes trying to log into her email. Nothing doing. She was starting to get more frantic “Why isn't this working? We've had these since college! Mike has had his since high school!” She bit her lip hard.

 

“Why don't you let me have a friend look into it for you? Hes good with computers and should be able to find what the deal is.” Clint made the offer with a straight face. Darcy calmly gave him the phone number she was trying to reach, the email she was trying to log into and the email she was trying to reach. First and last name too. “Sleep on it. Ill have my friend look into it and we should have an answer for you in the morning, ok?”

 

“But I...ok.” Darcy slumped in defeat, but went to bed nervous but hopeful, while Nat and Clint put in another call to Stark. He was already on his way to them, his curiosity piqued by their call the previous evening.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, even if its just a wish for me to stop.


End file.
